


All is Bright

by kiichu



Series: Revival Oneshots [4]
Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9130021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiichu/pseuds/kiichu
Summary: What could the brat possibly be thinking? What sort of incentive could he possibly give Juzo to come to his stupid Christmas party? (Why did they even want to celebrate a mostly-foreign holiday, anyway?)“Munakata-san is coming.”Oh.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for meteoris as part of the Dangan Ronpa Secret Santa 2016! I'm sorry it's so late, but I hope you like it! It's a bit cheesy, but what Christmas fic isn't? ;)

“A _what_?” Sakakura Juzo blinked, surprise smacked across his face. His bed’s sheets hadn’t even been changed once yet, the bandages around his stomach and shoulder only replaced twice; he hadn’t gained his bearings just yet, his damn vision still blurry and his body still trembling despite himself - point being, he hadn’t had nearly enough time to recover, let alone consider the sudden proposal brought to him.

But still Naegi Makoto stood in his hospital room with a stupid sheepish grin, the urge to punch the son-of-a-bitch rising very quickly. The kid’s face was too casual, too relaxed for someone who just survived another Killing Game. But then again, why _would_ Naegi feel anything? It wasn’t as if _his_ friends had died in horrible ways. His damned Ultimate Luck had somehow spared them all, even the girl that had been _poisoned_ by her bracelet.

It pissed Juzo off to no end. First he defeated Enoshima, then he survived the final game, and _now_ he had the fucking balls to stand before the boxer looking _peaceful_ and _composed_ , as if it’s all okay.

Juzo knew it wasn’t okay, but this brat wouldn’t understand. Naegi just kept his gentle smile, his hands laced behind his back and on the tips of his toes as if in anticipation.

“A Christmas… get-together,” the boy repeated. “It wasn’t my idea, but Hagakure-kun’s; he knew what we went through… well, sort of… and he thought we could use a pick-me-up. His carefree attitude might be what we need right now.”

The boxer’s eyes narrowed into slits, anger pulsing under his veins. “You’re kidding. You honestly think that’s a good idea? After all that shit? I can’t even _move_ yet!” The burning feeling in his chest started to spread, the rage building the longer Naegi stood nearby. “What makes you think I want to be anywhere _near_ you stupid brats-!”

“Ah, Sakakura-san! Please be careful, you’re agitating your wounds...”

Oh, so _now_ the kid cared about his injuries. How fucking perfect.

Shaking his head clear, he continued to glare at Naegi, his lips twisted into a deep frown and his brows furrowed. “Give me one reason why I should join in your _festivities_.”

The brat’s mouth opened instantly, the answer hovering on his tongue as the gears almost visibly churned in his head. What could he possibly be thinking? What sort of incentive could he possibly give Juzo to come to his stupid Christmas party? (Why did they even want to celebrate a mostly-foreign holiday, anyway?)

“Munakata-san is coming.”

_Oh._

He paused, caught off-guard by the words. He had trouble believing that Munakata had just accepted the idea of the party right off the bat, but…

“It’s next month, right?”

Naegi’s eyes lit up in a way that Juzo absolutely despised. “Yes! December 24th - Christmas Eve!”

Why was it so easy for Naegi Makoto to be so goddamn _chipper_?

Frustrated, Juzo’s teeth gnashed together and his remaining fist balled tightly, his nails digging into his palm. Getting angry here would only make his heartrate speed up, and thus put his life in danger again, and he wouldn’t be any good to Munakata like this. The longer he stayed out of commission, the more he feared the man would toss him aside again.

Juzo wasn’t an idiot, he could tell why Munakata was avoiding the hospital. He had let the man down, not even managing to _die_ for him at the end of it, and had the nerve to still want to be near him.

Damn it all, he _still_ wanted to see Munakata even after he was deemed not worthy to be in that man’s presence. Even though his best friend had stabbed and left him for dead, Juzo wanted to continue to live by his side. No, it was much more than a want - his heart physically _ached_ for him.

So if he went to that stupid party…

Like it or not, he’d have the chance to speak with Munakata again. Really speak to him. Perhaps even… air out all his dirty laundry. After everything that had happened, Juzo didn’t see the need in keeping his feelings hidden anymore; what could Munakata do, reject him _further_?

Probably, but Juzo didn’t want to consider it, or talk himself out of finally confessing. The words always danced behind his tongue, their bitter taste too much for him to push them past his lips. He always feared Munakata’s reaction, utterly terrified of the possibility of hatred from the most important person to him.

He’d played the scenario in his mind so many times like an old VHS on repeat: he’d pull Munakata aside, tell him the truth - _“I love you, Munakata, I love you so goddamn much that it’s hard to breathe sometimes and I can’t imagine my life without you...”_ \- and after not even a few seconds, the man would recoil in disgust. He’d blame him for the end of the world (rightfully so), or hiss that he loved Yukizome and Juzo should keep his damn _feelings_ to himself…

Any reaction that he could conjure up in his mind was negative.

But nowadays, after all the two went through, after he’d been set on dying for Munakata… his feelings were as vast and deep as ever, but they didn’t seem as frightening any longer.

Juzo felt weightless, like he could do anything without worrying about the consequences; he just couldn’t decide if that was a good attitude to have or not.

Blinking himself out of his thoughts, he realized Naegi was still standing in front of him, the kid still patiently waiting for an answer.

With a sigh, Juzo snapped, “Fine. I’ll go. Now, leave.”

Naegi’s face melted into a more relieved expression now, the wide smile fading just a bit at the sides. “Thank you, Sakakura-san. I’m sure Munakata-san will be very happy to hear.”

Somehow, Juzo doubted that. “...Just leave,” he snapped, his hand playing with the hem of the bedsheet. He watched the brat nod and turn around to leave, stopping in his tracks not even half a second later.

“Um… one more thing.” Naegi turned around to face him, the smile completely vanished from his face. It was such a drastic change, Juzo almost questioned whether or not a smile was really there to begin with. The kid’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his eyes burning with the so-called ‘hope’ that he constantly seemed to emit - the switch was honestly sort of chilling. “I wanted to thank you for saving us. I’m glad you’re okay. I don’t know what Munakata-san… what _any_ of us would’ve done had you died in that power room.”

Juzo found himself silenced for a moment, the two of them sitting in the room with nothing but the ticks of the clock and the beat of the heart monitor to prove time was passing. The boxer held his breath, taking in the kid’s words and dissecting them in his mind, searching for any sort of hidden meaning or emotion. He couldn’t hear anything but sincerity - and that bothered him.

“You would’ve been fine,” he argued, eyes downcast. Anyone could’ve found the power room. The door was wide open, for god’s sake--

“I don’t know about that, but I know Munakata-san wouldn’t be nearly as… _calm_ as he is now. He didn’t jump at the party idea, but when I mentioned I was going to try to persuade you, he agreed. I think you keep him hopeful, Sakakura-san.” Naegi smiled again, but this one seemed less stretched out.

Juzo couldn’t help the warmth that spread through his cheeks at the thought of it, but he still snorted at the notion. _Him_ , being _Munakata’s_ hope? It was clearly the other way around, and he should punch the kid’s lights out for giving him a sense of slight pleasure based on a complete lie.

His fist curled tightly at his side. “Good joke.”

Naegi smiled still, a bit of melancholy settling on his face. “Hang in there, Sakakura-san. This will be good for everyone.”

* * *

The atmosphere wasn’t as jolly as the decorations made it out to be, the green and red patterns just harsh on the eyes as it was splattered onto every fucking thing in the stuffy room. Songs from decades ago played on a worn-out radio, the English lyrics recounting a sort of life where there _wasn’t_ a constant fear of death, and someone could be _home_ for Christmas, and that Christmas could _really_ _be_ white.

The soft melodies echoed off the walls, the singers’ cheerful tones a drastic contrast to the mood the guests were in. It was difficult, really, to be that happy and joyous - not considering the suffocating truth of it all: that there _should_ be eight other people in the room with them right now.

They’d cleared out an old hotel suite for the ‘party’ (if one could even _call_ this sad-fest that), but the trails of various-colored lights strewn about could do nothing for the dark memories thickening the room like smog.

Naegi was, of course, trying to talk with everyone, trying to keep the spirits as high as possible. Juzo wouldn’t have any of it, though, and chose to isolate himself out on the balcony for a bit. When the music grew too loud and the words of the brats too cheerful, he closed the sliding door in a huff, angry that he even came to this event at all.

Munakata was nowhere to be found, despite Naegi telling him the white-haired man would be here. It made Juzo wonder if Naegi had made it up, just to get him to sit here so the brat wouldn’t feel guilty.

Sighing, the boxer leaned against the wall by the balcony, clutching the glass of champagne he’d poured himself. As he moved to take a sip, his eye caught the glint of his metal left hand.

Juzo found himself studying his hand a lot - almost as if he constantly forgot it had been restored to him.

The way it curved in a strange way and was slightly smaller than the one he… _discarded_ , the metal connected to his nerves somehow making his fingers twitch and move like normal… everything about his hand was so different, he couldn’t help but _stare_ any chance he could get.

It wasn’t like he was against the idea of having at least _something_ in place of his hand now, it was just difficult to accept. The hand he’d been born with, the hand that punched into so many ugly faces and won him a championship - it just... wasn’t there anymore. It was _gone_ , and it was so hard to get that simple fact through his mind.

Gone. Replaced with a foreign metal object crafted by a Despair - a Despair he was now forever indebted to. But he accepted this debt, at least, and went along with Munakata’s proposal for a replacement hand the moment the other man spoke of it. What good would a boxer be without his dominant hand? Even if he wasn’t performing the sport anymore, he still needed both his hands to protect himself - and more importantly, _Munakata_.

That man still dashed through Juzo’s thoughts any moment he could, the mere presence in his mind comforting and warm, even in the chill of the later fall months. It was a light unlike any other, a soft glow of hope in an otherwise dark and depressing world.

Another sigh passed through the boxer’s lips as he thought of Munakata, sipping the bubbling champagne and gazing over the balcony. The sky was a deep black with some stars visible, the air crisp with cleaner oxygen and the overall atmosphere of the earth seeming fresher.

“What’s the big deal about all of this, anyway…?” he questioned to himself, eyes studying the ground below. Plants had started to root again, some green decorating the path even in the dark of the night. The world was growing back to normal, sure, but could they all forget about what happened? Could society ever truly _heal_ and have stupid traditions like Christmas again?

Christmas was never something Juzo actively celebrated anyway, though he did enjoy spending the holidays with Munakata and Yukizome. Though the two of them would get cuddly during the season, he just scoffed and ignored it as always, trying to dispel any hint of jealousy from his heart.

Back in Hope’s Peak, the three of them would set up for any holiday festivities, and Munakata would often make a game out of it with Juzo. When Juzo claimed he could carry everything needed for the parties, Munakata would claim that he could carry everything _and_ Juzo. The two of them had this back-and-forth for many years, even stretching over to any sort of get-together the Future Foundation had to keep themselves sane in the winter months.

Munakata never carried Juzo, though - as much as a part of Juzo had sort of wished it had happened at one point or another - and the two would laugh it off as an inside joke. It was something they shared, just the two of them, and not even the decay of the world could stop them from having a laugh now and again.

That was before the Final Killing Game, though.

Still, considering how badly it could have gone - considering that one or both of them could be dead right now - things weren’t _horrible_. Juzo knew if he wished too badly for things to be normal so soon, he’d be getting greedy and wouldn’t be rewarded with anything.

But it wasn’t for his sake, but Munakata’s. That man continued to stick by him against all odds - against the pace of the Killing Game, the injuries, and even their own faults. It was like circumstance stuck its middle finger to fate and kept them by each other’s side - and Juzo wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he’d first awoken, Munakata had been there, a heart-wrenching expression on his face. Juzo hated that look on him, and for the longest time, he couldn’t understand why. The white-haired man had cried - he’d shed more tears than Juzo had ever witnessed in all their years as friends - and held onto the stump of Juzo’s left arm for dear life.

Juzo had tried to calm him, tried to reiterate that it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d died, so long as Munakata had been the one to survive.

That… hadn’t been the smartest thing to say, really, considering the emotion of the situation. In any case, it just made Munakata break down further, embracing Juzo with all the strength he had.

The two of them had talked for hours, conversations going late into the night just like the sleepovers from their younger days. Hushed whispers, deep voices, promises of a better future - it was everything Juzo remembered, and somehow so much _more_ now that they were grown men and had survived another tragedy. It was almost poetic how open their hearts became after the Killing Game, how close Munakata’s near-murder of Juzo brought them together.

It was almost like old times - before the Tragedy, before Enoshima, before everything. All they were missing was Yukizome.

They didn’t talk about her much, though they both obviously grieved for their friend. She was the glue molding the trio together, the essential element to any sort of positivity amongst them. Without her, life was much duller and the world grayer.

The boxer huffed, feeling the rest of the champagne slide down his throat, some small amounts trickling down the side of his mouth. He’d grown sloppy as the alcohol made his mind fuzzy, and while he knew he shouldn’t be drinking - he’d just been discharged from the hospital and his stomach was still messed up, not to mention the possibility, however small, of danger around them… It was a risk being outside at all.

But what was life without risks?

“How did I know I’d find you out here?” A familiar voice sounded nearby as the door slid open, and Juzo’s whole demeanor seemed to lift, his spirits raised higher. Munakata flashed him a small smile as he joined him on the balcony, shutting the door behind them so they could be alone. Just the two of them - like old times, almost.

“Hey, Munakata,” he greeted with a slight smile, feeling his chest warm at the very presence of his best friend (or maybe it was the champagne). “Fashionably late, I see.”

“Mm. And you’re being quite the lone wolf, aren’t you, Sakakura?” The white-haired man had a glass of alcohol in his hand as well, the sepia color of the liquid matching Juzo’s choice of drink.

Juzo shrugged. “Didn’t feel like spending too much time with them. I don’t see how they can just party it up when…” His words trailed off, choosing to study the winter sky closely instead of meeting Munakata’s gaze. “...well, when the room’s so fucking _empty_.”

None of Future Foundation’s branch leaders were spoken of very often, for fear of bringing up more trauma to the survivors. Every proposal Naegi made to honor their memories had been shot down by Munakata with a glare and a hiss, telling the kid all he needed to know about where they stood as a functioning group. They could get along in social settings _maybe_ , but Munakata still saw himself as a leader of sorts, and would take care of the arrangements himself - he’d told Juzo as much in private. And Juzo respected those decisions because he absolutely _hated_ the way his own chest ached when he thought of Yukizome or Kimura or Gozu, people he’d grown close with in a relatively short amount of time.

And again, it didn’t seem right to celebrate without them now.

Munakata seemed to relate to that sentiment, or at least understood what his friend meant; the other man kept quiet and stood next to him, their shoulders brushing as he also peered over the balcony. They were quite a few stories up, high enough to see the ashen pieces of the city, as well as the parts that were being rebuilt.

“I didn’t know how to take this, either, but Naegi was persistent. Perhaps I attempted to make things feel normal again by attending,” Munakata mused. “A silly ideal, of course. Take one look around and nothing seems to reach any level of normalcy, does it?” A bitter chuckle left him, his eye closing as he took a sip of his glass.

Juzo didn’t really know how to respond, but shrugged all the same. “Least we’re both still kicking,” he mumbled.

“Indeed. Though it doesn’t feel the same, I’ve accepted that it never will.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but Juzo had to chuckle at that statement. “What a _Munakata_ thing to say,” he commented.

The words were poetic, reserved, and yet somehow raw enough to make Juzo’s heart pound against his ribcage like a war drum, warming his cheeks and making his fists curl inwards instinctively with the desire to _protect_. He loved this man so goddamn much, there wasn’t anything that could be done to change it.

“I suppose. But it is the truth. I think about it every time I see your new hand there. Though I have to admit… it does seem to serve its function rather well.”

Juzo couldn’t argue there, but he didn’t have much to say on the matter. He was sure Munakata didn’t want to be reminded of the reason his hand was missing in the first place - nor did Juzo himself want to think about it. Instead, he chose to finish drinking his champagne, the fizziness sliding down his throat and warming his still-mangled stomach.

Once he placed the empty glass back on the edge of the balcony wall, Juzo felt a bit lightheaded, the world slowing down the dizzier he became. It wasn’t a bad feeling, though - as though his troubles were floating away into the sky like fireflies.

“Gotta admit,” he murmured, a slur to his words, “it wasn’t so bad, coming here tonight.”

A slight smile crossed his lips as he imagined all the pain and guilt he felt over Enoshima - soaring way above any of their heads, above the soft glow of the moon above them, past even their fucking galaxy.

He didn’t want to feel those things anymore - and it was the slight buzz that made him realize that.

And perhaps it was because of that same alcohol that led him to make such a bold move with Munakata. He turned to the man and stared straight at him, red eyes glimmering with an intensity that definitely didn’t scream sobriety.

“You know…” he began, his tone low but firm, “every beat of my heart is to control. Yours to order, to nurture or destroy. Whatever you wish, I will be here to make it happen.” His fists clenched at his sides as he took a step closer to Munakata, their faces just a bit closer to one another...

Munakata’s eyes widened a bit at the boldness, but the words didn’t seem to really bother him. Perhaps he’d had too much to drink, too? The man merely shook his head with a warm, knowing smile. “Now who’s being poetic?” he asked. “Or is it the champagne?”

“Maybe both,” Juzo admitted, knowing that the alcohol _was_ making him a bit lightheaded. “We should toast, though, like we always used to.” He knew he wasn’t the only one who remembered the small Christmas get-togethers they had with Yukizome the night of Christmas itself; she _insisted_ on cooking them a turkey, after all.

Munakata nodded and outstretched his arm, hesitating as he noticed Juzo’s own glass was empty. “You need something to toast with, Sakakura. Here.” Gently, he tipped his glass and poured a tiny amount of champagne for Juzo. Then, their glasses clinked together, ringing in a rekindled tradition between two very close friends.

“For Yukizome. For everyone,” Munakata began as he would normally, his words almost monotone. But in the next moment, the other man leaned forward and Juzo’s breath caught in his throat, making him nearly choke as their lips brushed ever-so-slightly. Munakata, handsome as ever, merely smiled into the kiss, whispering words that lifted Juzo’s worries beyond the very stretch of time.

_“For you, Sakakura.”_

And, once again, Juzo felt that Naegi had bested him. That this party had been good for them, after all - that maybe, things _would_ start to be okay.

If not soon, then someday.


End file.
